That reward is the robust flavor of John Yao's Sichuan cooking. The punishment is the heat, which sneaks up on you like a feral cat.

China Village reopened July 1 after being closed for more than a year because of a kitchen fire.

Longtime customers won't recognize the place. The space is sleek and airy, with rich-hued walls, dazzling Chinese art, a contemporary bar and evocative lighting. Yet the exterior remains as bland as ever, making the walk in all the more inviting.

There are plenty of Mandarin and Cantonese alternatives among the menu's 211 choices, and less than half of the Sichuan dishes have asterisks indicating "hot and spicy." Yao also highlights his recommendations for the uninitiated.

When I asked the bartender for her favorites, she recommended the pork shoulder ($18.95) and 1,000-pepper fish fillet in chicken broth ($16.95). Later, when I asked our waiter, he recommended the pork shoulder and 1,000 pepper fish fillet in chicken broth.

The wide iron terrine of the brothy fish arrived, and the lid lifted to reveal a tightly woven raft of blistered red chiles. Not 1,000 by any means, but certainly more than 100.

With each ladleful into the bowls, our server's chopsticks sliced off any dangling mung bean noodles. The translucent noodles are wonderful, as silky as the fish. The gingery broth is perfumed - not spiked - with the rich, smoky peppers.

The pork shoulder is rich with fat and silkily textured from its long simmer in sherry-like shaoxing wine. Crisp bok choy cuts the sumptuous meat flavors.

On the other hand, the clay pot duck ($16.95) was disappointing, bony, flabby meat in a beery broth. Nevertheless, both of my dinner visits were clearly a cut above the usual.

As for lunch, you simply cannot beat this place, with specials priced at $7.95. That includes the best sweet-and-sour pork I know of: a citrusy sauce coating pineapple chunks, green pepper strips and knobs of moist and crunchy flash-fried pork.

The black bean fish was nothing special, but with service and atmosphere like this, and at the price of Panda Express, I'll take it.

We had started lunch with a dense and desultory green onion pancake ($3.95), but it was taken off the check. And the dry-cooked green beans ($9.95), coated in toasted garlic, are phenomenal.

"Courage" was a word that came up time and again when I spoke with Yao late one night after my final visit. It is something Yao needed when he started serving spicy Sichuan cuisine to a mild Mandarin-minded clientele in 2002, who were courageous enough to try those dishes.

As the chile count in my cumin lamb ($11.95) reached 26, I decided to eat one - and I broke into an unparalleled sweat. About that time, one of the team of well-trained waiters asked the table behind me if they needed anything else. There was an urgent chorus of "Water!"

But their host shrugged. "There are spicier dishes," he says.

I ordered the North Sichuan spicy fish fillet with Chinese celery ($12.95). It arrived in a glistening pool of hot chile oil. Because my sweat had cooled, I finished it nonchalantly and asked for a shot of chile-infused vodka used in Yao's death-defying Bloody Mary ($8).

Prices are based on main courses. When entrees fall between these categories, the prices of appetizers help determine the dollar ratings. Chronicle critics make every attempt to remain anonymous. All meals are paid for by The Chronicle. Star ratings are based on a minimum of three visits. Ratings are updated continually based on at least one revisit.